


Foxhound

by mecomptane



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, I am blaming people seeming OOC on Aiden being an unreliable narrator, Minor Original Character(s), Mostly from Aiden's POV, So here we are, and had never written for Watch Dogs before, and not because this is 18 months old and i hadn't written tsuna in years, but then i got stuck for the last year, this was also going to be much longer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:44:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8745370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mecomptane/pseuds/mecomptane
Summary: Aiden takes his job as the Vigilante Very Seriously.Meanwhile, Spanner has co-opted Giannini’s bikes and wants to test the newest model, plus security features, and only one test subject will do.





	1. At Least He's Not Celty

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my writing tumblr between April to October 2015.
> 
> Because at some point I think it's a great idea to crossover everything ever with KHR, and occasionally I actually write the crossover in question. Even if I then give up and let it sit until I finally just. End it.
> 
> Working with the idea that the multiplayer Fixer races actually have a form and function in the story itself.

“Any info on the new guy?”

 

_“Naw, he’s completely off the grid. Especially with that beauty of a helmet on.”_

 

Said helmet was small and sleek, something that looked more fashionable than effective, with a wide tinted visor that lightened at the edges just enough to allow the glow of electronics to leak onto the surrounding black polycarbonate shell. The vents were disguised in the lines of the hardened form, but even then they looked too small to be practical.

 

But T-Bone had whistled in appreciation when the ctOS cameras finally caught a glimpse of the newest race participant. _“Think you can ask where he got it?”_

 

“No.”

 

Aiden busied himself with his phone, checking the battery power and the level of interconnectivity. He still had access to the ctOS servers scattered around the city, so wherever the race happened to lead them—checkpoints were always an interesting method of gauging prowess at both driving and hacking—he should be fine.

 

_“That bike isn’t one you get at just any dealership. Definitely custom there. Do you see a maker’s mark? I can’t find anything in any database I have access to.”_

 

“I don’t, and I’m not going to ask.” And felt compelled to add when he heard T-Bone take a breath, “If you say anything more or ask questions about him, I’m disconnecting right now.”

 

_“But then you wouldn’t complete the contract.”_

 

Aiden shoved his phone in his pocket, zipped it up for good measure. “I can complete it fine without you. And you have access to everything I do. You can do your end just as easily without rambling in my ear.”

 

 _“Testy, testy_. _Fine. But if I don’t know why this guy is in, then you don’t know why. Someone might have heard rumours about stray wildlife in the city and decided to hire a foxhound.”_

 

Aiden snorted, adjusting his cap. The small earpiece remained snuggly in place, but the separate microphone pressed against his throat under the collar of his jacket itched like the devil. “I’m not exactly being subtle here. He could take me down just as easily now as at the end of the race.”

 

_“So… not at all?”_

 

“Exactly.”


	2. Scientists Are the Root of All Evil

Tsuna realized, forty-two seconds after walking into the lab, that this was a very Bad Idea.

 

“Spanner?” Nothing. “Spanner, are you there?”

 

A muffled reply echoed from… somewhere in the mountains of equipment. Wholly uncomfortable, given the monstrosity staring Tsuna down at that moment. And then—

 

“Spanner?!”

 

“Hello, Vongola,” the blonde engineer greeted from the newly punched hole in the torso of… Tsuna wasn’t sure. Spanner’s specialty was the Mosca-series robots, but this didn’t look like a Mosca. It didn’t even look like a robot. Or, it didn’t, until said hole was opened forcefully and the metal forced to curl back on itself.

 

Tsuna smiled as best he could up at his friend. Shaky was probably an understatement. “Um, Spanner… you asked me to come down?”

 

“Ah, yes, yes. One minute, Vongola.”

 

Fifty-nine seconds later Spanner had managed to extract himself from the… thing he was working on (or Tsuna hoped he was working on it and hadn’t decided to build himself a creepy exoskeleton to hide away in). “The bike performed well last weekend.”

 

Was it a question? Tsuna wasn’t sure. “Um, yeah? It did? Especially when they pulled up that bridge.”

 

“Improvements are being made.” Tsuna sighed. Of course they were. “The helmet is also being modified to more accurately resemble the Lightning Guardian’s helm, defence stats included. I’m in the process of adding in the necessary coding to link the visor’s display screen with your contacts and headphones. Once Shouichi gets back from the convention, we’ll work together to allow you a seamless transition from wearing the helmet to being without it.” Spanner reached the nearest workbench and held out the helmet, gesturing avidly once it was safely in Tsuna’s hands. “Air intake has also been improved through better filters.”

 

“Thank you,” and Tsuna meant it. Mostly because Spanner concentrating on smaller projects like this meant Spanner _not_ concentrating on giant robots that would wreak havoc and force Tsuna to do damage control. (Whatever that thing was behind them… Tsuna didn’t want to know, as long as it stayed _here_.) But there was a fair bit of a work involved in all this. Having someone so worried about his safety when outside the compound wasn’t novel, but it was appreciated.

 

Spanner shrugged, taking back the helmet and pulling a smaller toolbox across the workbench towards them. “Everything should be prepared for the next race, Vongola.”

 

“Next… race?”

 

“Yeah,” and Spanner’s grin was… worrisome. Letting SRTA spend any period of time unsupervised had come back to bite Tsuna in the ass once. Insisting Hayato be there for most of their project update meetings had helped a bit, but that slightly manic, violent edge to Spanner’s smirk implied that Tsuna needed to find someone else who spoke geek and wouldn’t be quite so prone to corrupting people. “All information we’ve found says it should be two weekends from now, starting somewhere in The Loop.” Tsuna gaped at him. “You’re already signed up, Vongola. We can’t afford to lose an opportunity to test our inventions.”

 

At least he hadn’t tried to force Tsuna into a Mosca “for his safety while racing” again.


	3. Candy Isn't the Only Thing You Shouldn't Take From Strangers

Since the Merlaut—and everything after—Aiden had generally stayed true to his role as the Vigilante. The exceptions were few and far between but always led to a greater prize at the end, and while using an ends-means argument wasn’t Aiden’s style, sometimes it worked out.

 

Mario Cormac was comatose in a high security prison hospital upstate because of ends-means. That, and a Fixer who was completely off the grid, who didn’t know what his win in the last race had cost Aiden, nor what his win had _gained_ the Vigilante, too. The program being anted—a skeleton key for the newest ctOS update, smuggled out by one of Blume’s less scrupulous employees—would have been a godsend, but to have a sure-fire excuse why he _couldn’t_ take the job from the rumoured Boss of the newest gang in Chicago’s south end helped to lessen the blow. The succeeding excuse of “you tried to kill me for saying ‘no’ now I get to go after _you_ ” made it all the sweeter.

 

Fixer races were a means that Aiden loathed to employ for more reasons than T-Bone nagged him about. Yes, that the prizes were rarely worth of the risk of getting tagged by police was frustrating, and yes, that _winning_ those mediocre antes was up to skill and chance equally was annoying, and no, Aiden didn’t doubt his own capabilities at all. But they often went through populated areas, sometimes even during the day, which meant people possibly getting injured or at least calling the police, which meant the races more often than not gained at least five patrol cars of additional competitors. That was a risk that no program was worth.

 

Until three weeks ago.

 

From an “overheard” conversation, Aiden knew tonight’s prize wasn’t anything particularly awe-inspiring. A simple, basic program, one that even he could write in his sleep. Most of the Fixers racing were fairly new to things, still at the point where any new program or code could help in making a name for themselves, help keep them one step ahead of their opponents. The others were generally all adrenaline junkies who didn’t even bother racing for the prize, just for the thrill of violent competition.

 

Black Mask didn’t look like an adrenaline junkie, and given how he raced when he and Aiden faced off for the last six checkpoints those few weeks past, all other racers left far behind them, he wasn’t a newbie, and was definitely skilled enough to probably not need tonight’s program.

 

So why was he here? Aiden frowned down from his perch at the top of the subway access stair. The growing number of racers would be attracting more attention than the few curious glances if it hadn’t been for someone’s decision to hang a “biker convention” sign with today’s date ten feet away from the Vigilante’s head. The given time of 2 AM no doubt helped as well.

 

Black Mask didn’t join in with the pre-race jeering and trash talking. He straddled his bike casually, one hand raised to the side of his helmet. Talking to someone? Confirming start location, possibility of a checkpoint or lap race? Most Fixers relied heavily on their phones in the Field or in a race—Aiden included himself in that group of course—and he could attest that it was sometimes difficult to steer with one hand and hack with the other. Having the system built into your helmet, presumably with phone functions too, and maybe even voice activated….

 

T-Bone had spent _hours_ gushing over Black Mask(‘s equipment—Aiden refused to consider the possibility of his support hacker being a fanboy, especially of an unknown). Many of his theories were completely psychotic, impossible to even imagine, but the tentative specs he’d laid out for the helmet from what he had observed via ctOS, coupled with Aiden’s input, all sounded both plausible and very, very tempting.

 

There was some high level engineering and mechanical work in that helmet, and Aiden, a mere Fixer and hacker, wouldn’t be able to come up with an equivalent. Not even with T-Bone and a team of the city’s best underground resources. Which left… asking.

 

Aiden frowned at himself. He was never this reticent. If he had a contract, he completed it, and this was a contract. Given by T-Bone, technically, and without a stated price, but Aiden would benefit from a successful completion even more than T-Bone. Obviously he couldn’t walk around all day with a biker helmet on, but if they could take some of the technology and implement it in, say, his scarf, or hat, or the collar of his jacket, it would be an incredible boon.

 

At some unseen signal the Fixers below moved quickly into a rough starting line, fiddling with last minute updates or changes in strategy. Black Mask was at the far end of the line, nearly out of Aiden’s line of sight underneath the steel frame of the tracks above.

 

Too late to ask now, then.

 

But just as the engines started to rev, Black Mask tilted his head back, turned to look in Aiden’s direction, and saluted.

 

Then they were gone.

 

Aiden wandered down the steps, examining the areas where Black Mask had been loitering before the race. “Of course,” he frowned, turning to see that both the mysterious Fixer’s at rest and starting positions were the only two places that would allow the other to see Aiden watching from above.

 

The frown morphed into a small smirk at the note dropped innocently by the curb edge. The short hand was messy and in a crude code, but easy enough to decipher as contact information.

 

“T-Bone is going to have a field day.”


	4. The Fox and the Hound

Even for Aiden and T-Bone’s combined skills, the simple code turned out to be not so simple.

 

“ _I don’t get it_ ,” T-Bone whined into Aiden’s ear, “ _He obviously wants us to find him, but this is—this is sure as fuck not easy!_ ”

 

“No kidding.”

 

T-Bone huffed at him. Aiden ignored all petulance aimed his way, fingers flying over his phone’s screen and the scrap of paper smoothed out on the table in front of him.

 

“ _Next time you see him, demand a phone number!_ ”

 

“Because he’ll really just hand it over.”

 

“ _It’s always worth a try._ ”

 

“No. It’s not.”

 

The elderly lady a couple tables down looked like she wanted to say something to him, then glance at his shoulder—probably his ear— and decide he had a Bluetooth device, then glance again and decide he didn’t and start to open her mouth…. It was getting old, and distracting, and Aiden wasn’t sure if his coffee or hers was colder by now. He tapped Black Mask’s code into a decryption program that badboy17— _Clara, never forget, never forgive_ —had once programmed for him. In the meantime, coffee.

 

…which was disgustingly cold, but at least he had an excuse to not reply to T-Bone’s muffled, “ _Fuck it all to fuck_!” The elderly woman wouldn’t appreciate it.

 

He levered himself out of the booth and squeezed in at the counter, coffee mug in hand. The group of truant teens ignored the jostling, but the foreign young man on the other side raised an eyebrow. Aiden raised one back. “Hey, can I get this warmed up?” Foreign young man sighed and returned to nursing his… tea? Definitely not coffee. The sad excuse for a barista meandered down from the other end of the coffee bar, snagging the cold mug from Aiden’s hands with a finger round the handle and dumping half the contents down the drain with such casual disdain Aiden’s lip curled.

 

But the mug was refilled, exactly as he liked it (black, steaming hot), and Aiden nodded in thanks. The barista nodded back. The tea drinker shot another unamused glance at Aiden as the Vigilante forced his way out of the crowd and back to his booth.

 

Which had been taken over by a young couple. Sharing a booth? Not happening, especially not with the woman practically in the man’s lap, breathy laughter barely audible above the low drone of 80’s classics on the radio. Aiden snagged the paper code off the table, shot the couple a look as unimpressed as tea-drinker was _still_ aiming his way (and really, what was that guy’s problem? At this rate, Aiden wouldn’t be surprised if tea-drinker showed up on the ctOS criminal profiling system), and sauntered into the booth in the back corner. Dim lighting, half-blocked from street view by the coffee bar, three steps away from the door into the kitchen and, through there, the rear parking lot. Aiden would be more willing to sit there if it wasn’t for the fact the position screamed ‘shady dealings’. Aiden smirked at himself. Considering the history of the café’s owner, that was probably the intention.

 

Still, it would serve for now, and with the café so busy no one would question why someone chose to sit in such an out-of-the-way corner.

 

A quick glance down showed the decryption program still had no new results, which meant that either this code was just _that_ difficult to break (possibly), or it was just that simple, and he and T-Bone were completely missing something.

 

The clock above the coffee counter showed twenty to two. Aiden rolled his shoulders, considering. Given the timing, there wouldn’t likely be too many crimes in the offing, not for another hour or so—targets, if there were any, would likely not leave work or school until three at the earliest. The clans could stir up trouble any time, but the police were finally getting the hang of using the ctOS to root out gang members and traffickers, and Aiden didn’t want to impede too much in their quest of getting better. So.

 

One hour, Aiden promised himself. One hour to figure this thing out.

 

One hour and a number of patrons swapping in and out later (tea-drinker was replaced by worn-down-businessman; teenagers by high level executives; lustful couple still in full view of very disapproving granny), Aiden was still no closer to figuring out the code. (Grandma occasionally switched to shooting _him_ disapproving glances instead.)

“T-Bone, you got anything?”

 

“ _A headache._ ”

 

“Don’t make me disconnect you.”

 

“ _Fine, fine! You know what I have, Fox? Nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.”_

 

“Neither do I.”

 

“ _Wonderful! So now we can put operation_ just ask him _into motion._ ”

 

“No,” Aiden drew out, “We’re going to keep operation we’re not going down without a fight in motion, and if need be hack our way in.”

 

“ _Into where, exactly?_ ”

 

“His helmet.”

 

T-Bone was silent, and Aiden took the opportunity to throw a couple dollars at the barista, shove phone and paper into his pocket, and disappear out the door and into the afternoon crowds.

 

“ _…and how for fuck’s sake are you planning on doing that?_ ”

 

“You’ll figure that out. I’ll even get close enough for you to do it remotely.”


	5. The Great Unintentional Trust Exercise

“I need these guys off my back, T-Bone.”

 

“ _What, sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of_ everything else you want me to do!”

 

“Stop whining, it’s just a bit of backup.”

 

_“No. You said you’d get close enough to hack Black Mask, and I’m still waiting with alllll my computers ready to go and a nice bottle of rum beside me._ ”

 

“What, no Coke?”

 

“ _For someone desperate enough to get those guys off you, you’re pretty witty._ ”

 

“Just one of my charms. Be a good hacker and show me one of yours?”

 

“ _You’re just lucky I’m not drunk enough to ignore you yet._ ”

 

The bridge raising could have been better timed for Aiden’s descent, but that plus Aiden’s control of the traffic lights immediately before it meant that—finally—he had a bit of room to breathe.

 

_“Now get back to the front of the pack, would you?”_

 

The taillights of the next competitor were in view now and closing by the second; whatever his fallout with Aiden, Jordi’s contacts still proved loyal and willing to keep their drop points quiet. That all of their vehicles were now customized to easily outpace their market equivalents meant that they were in high demand for all Fixers and so able to be choosy about their drops, but Aiden had scratched their backs in the past. Many, many times—more than Jordi, evidently.

 

Speaking of, “Remind me to find a couple vehicle drop jobs for the week.”

 

_“Staying on someone’s good side?”_

 

“I need to keep up with Black Mask, don’t I?”

 

The surprise on the Fixer’s face as Aiden passed him was obvious enough for the Vigilante to smirk at him. The triggered traffic lights immediately afterward was the icing on the cake.

 

_“There’s three more before Black Mask.”_

 

“Is he in front?”

 

“ _He was, but either something’s wrong with his bike or he’s set something up. He’s dropping back, and quickly.”_

 

“Noted.”

 

Five checkpoints later had Black Mask hitting the breaks in full view of Aiden, letting the last of the other three Fixers pass him. Aiden checked his speed to match, pulling up alongside the mystery Fixer. They took the next corner at half the speed Aiden was used to, and watched as the racer Aiden has passed before swept passed them with a whoop.

 

No helmet meant that Aiden’s raised eyebrow was obvious to Black Mask.

 

_“Perfect! Now let me just….”_

 

Black Mask gestured for Aiden to pull ahead. Aiden shook his head.

 

“You got a plan?”

 

The other Fixer faced back to the street before them, leaning forward to gain speed. Aiden let himself fall back a beat, then matched his trajectory with his competitors’.

 

_“Good call.”_

 

Aiden stiffened.

 

“ _The fuck, Aiden?”_

 

“Shut up, T-Bone.”

 

_“Aiden? T-Bone?”_

 

Aiden narrowed his eyes at Black Mask’s back. “You’re Black Mask?”

 

“ _…that’s what you’re calling me? Really?”_

 

Aiden frowned. The voice sounded young, not surprising since few Fixers lived to anywhere near Aiden’s age. British accent, laced with another tonality that sounded foreign. English, Aiden concluded, was probably not Black Mask’s first language.

 

“Yes. Care to share your real name?”

 

“ _Mm, maybe at the end of the race._ ”

 

_“What do you mean, good call?”_

 

_“You’re T-Bone?”_

 

_“Yes.”_

 

“ _I went through this area before the race. Might have seen something being set up.”_

 

Aiden frowned harder. “Might have?”

 

_“It looks pretty nasty, but I don’t think we can disable it. But if we’re not caught when it springs, it should guarantee us decent places and points.”_

 

“Not first place?”

 

_“Do you really want to win this race with the given ante?”_

 

No, Aiden had to admit, he didn’t. The entire reason he joined the race was because he heard rumours that Black Mask was back in town after two months off the grid, and what Black Mask did was race. If he ever took contracts, in Chicago or elsewhere, no one knew.

 

And considering the prize for the race was a pitiful amount of standing points coupled with another low-end program, Aiden didn’t particularly care about the end result. Not now, anyway.

 

_“I heard you were the Fox.”_

 

Aiden grunted, falling in directly behind Black Mask. “What of it?”

 

_“So… Aiden and… T-Bone. I think you wanted to talk to me?_ ”

 

“ _Where did you get your mask?”_

 

“ _The… helmet? My mechanic and engineer created it to match the bike.”_

 

“ _And the bike?”_

 

“ _Spanner made it, too.”_

 

“Spanner,” Aiden ground the word out. “That’s a name I don’t recognize.”

 

“ _Probably not. A couple government agencies both here and across the pond were interested in him, so a lot of his work stayed out of the public eye. He agreed to work with me because one of his main collaborators is a friend from my hometown.”_

 

“You’re giving away too much,” Aiden cautioned, noting the local ctOS control tower dominating the block they were racing by.

 

_“Not enough,”_ Black Mask answered. _“Considering his position, all information regarding Spanner, his family, and his collaborators has been scrubbed from all systems.”_

 

“ _And you?”_

 

“ _You probably wouldn’t know where to look._ ”

 

“ _That’s a challenge if I ever heard one._ ”

 

“ _Feel free. I’m interested to see what you can manage.”_

 

“ _Doesn’t Aiden’s reputation precede him?”_

 

“ _It does,_ ” and Aiden could see Black Mask shrugging as they took the next corner, _“But rumours are never the whole truth._ ”

 

“You—”

 

_“Watch out!”_

 

The bridge ahead of them groaned, metal screeching against metal. It buckled at the near and far ends, asphalt pavement dipping away from the connection points to the adjoining land. One car was visible, trapped now at the still level midpoint, held up only by the pylons mid-river. Black Mask switched into the lanes of oncoming traffic. With a quick assessment, c/o T-Bone ( _“The lanes on your side are completely crippled, but the others are holding. Sort of.”)_ , Aiden followed Black Mask, thankful it was coming on 11 and few cars were on the road in this part of the city.

 

_“Okay, maybe find another bridge?”_

 

_“No, we’re good with this one_.”

 

Aiden could hear T-Bone’s disbelief in the silence over the comms—he was feeling pretty unimpressed himself—but Black Mask drifted further towards the sidewalk, Aiden on his tail. There was a very good chance that Black Mask was luring him into permanent injury or something worse, but that meant Black Mask would be just as injured. Aiden was willing to bet that it wouldn’t come to that.

 

Fifty meters from the edge, Aiden finally saw what Black Mask was aiming towards: when the bridge had crumpled, it tore the still connected supports from their anchors embedded under the roadway. Some of the anchors’ supports had been pulled from where they were previously lodged, creating a narrow and fairly straight metal ramp onto the surface of the bridge.

 

Aiden prayed it held them.


	6. If You Can't Beat 'Em

_“I don’t believe it.”_

 

“ _Um_.”

 

“ _How did you…?!”_

 

“ _Well... simulations?”_

 

“ _Teach. Me._ ”

 

Aiden ignored the banter, glancing at the only other Fixer joining them at the finish line. He looked fairly wealthy with his customized bike and helmet, but mostly he looked to be in shock.

 

Aiden walked his bike towards the younger man, Black Mask following behind. “You alright?”

 

The other Fixer started, tearing bright blue eyes from the empty roadway to stare at Aiden. “Wha… what? I mean. I… yes?”

 

“You sure?” Black Mask swung his leg off his bike, and for the first time Aiden realized just how _short_ he was. “You look like you’re in shock.”

 

“I just… the other three were with me, and then… the river…! I need to go check on them!”

 

Black Mask grabbed onto the winner’s arm. “Hold on, others should be coming soon. We can ask them about the bridge. The police should be there by now, and ambulances. If we were all to show up….”

 

“If we show up?”

 

“It’d be suspicious,” Aiden offered at blue eyes’ confusion. “A lot of Fixer races come through this area. A lot of locals can recognize what a large number of motorcycles mean. What do you think is going to happen if we head back up there?”

 

“If you’re that worried….” Black Mask tilted his head back, presumably to look at Aiden. With the helmet still on, it was hard to tell. “There’s a storage garage nearby. We can drop our bikes, lock it up, and head down on foot.”

 

The winner hedged for a second, darting almost fearful glances between the two of them. “I… this happens a lot?”

 

“Not quite this way,” Aiden allowed. A newbie Fixer, then. Possibly his first race. “But bridges, traffic lights, the crowd control systems….”

 

“If it’s controlled by the ctOS, it’s fair game to use and abuse. Mind, normally you aim to frustrate and misdirect, not… injure.”

 

Aiden caught the guilt laced in the tone, but blue eyes nodded slowly. “I… see. Then… can we? I… the man who brought me to my first race was towards the back of the pack. I want to know….”

 

“The bridge was already a mess when we got there,” Black Mask reassured as he settled back down on his bike, kicking it into gear. Aiden and blue eyes followed suit. _“Only the four of you were ahead of us. I’m pretty certain that your friend wasn’t caught in the bridge collapse.”_

 

Blue eyes visibly started at hearing Black Masks’ voice through his earphone, but swerved into line between Black Mask and Aiden. The Vigilante took up the rear position easily; for all that races often wound through this neighbourhood, he didn’t generally spend time here exploring it. Better for someone more familiar with the area to lead.

 

_“Wait… you were the one to drop back! Why?”_

 

_“I wanted to speak to a certain fox and he was having trouble keeping up in his old age.”_

 

T-Bone snickered but blue eyes didn’t twitch: clearly he wasn’t connected to the third Fixer’s comm system.

 

“We’ve run a few races before,” Aiden threw in.

 

Black Mask started to pick up speed; blue eyes and Aiden fell in accordingly as they turned onto the next main road they passed. _“Occasionally, we like to let other Fixers win, especially when we can ensure our point standings are safe.”_

 

“ _Points?”_

 

“ _You hit the checkpoints, you get points. You cross the finish line, you get points. You win, you get extra points.  For every second you’re still racing after someone has won, you lose points. As long as you end up with more points than what you started with, it’s a good race.”_

 

“The more points you have, the better your starting position in the next race,” Aiden offered.

 

_“And the higher your name is for contracts that have the potential of involving vehicles.”_

 

That Black Mask knew that… “You do a lot of contracts?”

 

_“Hm? No, I try to avoid them. But when something happens and I need someone to back me up, I contract other Fixers.”_

 

“ _So I could work for you?”_ Blue eyes sounded dubious. “ _Why would I?”_

 

“Money,” Aiden carefully watched blue eyes: young, apparently only his second race, unfamiliar with points and possibly contracts? The kid was either a plant or the kind of newbie Aiden hadn’t been since before the Merlaut. “Prestige, if it’s a contract that is high level or extremely dangerous. The higher your name on the List, the better paying contracts.”

 

“ _How… how much can you make by contracts?”_

 

“Enough to live off of.”

 

_“Enough to support a family, depending on the contracts you take. But some involve breaking the law, blue eyes. Don’t take those contracts if you’re squeamish about criminal acts.”_

 

Aiden let himself grin at the other Fixer’s reaction to that. So very young, to be afraid of illegal dealings.

 

_“Don’t call me blue eyes!”_

 

…or angry about the nickname. And how did Black Mask know what Aiden was calling the younger Fixer in his mind?

 

_“Do you have another name you like to use then?_ ”

 

“ _Why would I even need an alias?”_

 

“ _Why wouldn’t you?”_

 

“It’s useful.”

 

“ _Oh sure, probably for your kids, right? And how old are you, fifty?”_

 

“Close. And no kids.”

 

“ _…oh._ ”

 

“ _We’re here,”_ Black Mask cut in, turning down a laneway behind one of the newer warehouses.

 

_“I’ve never seen that kind of lock before,”_ T-Bone admitted as they pulled up beside a heavy steel door. “ _New tech?”_

 

“ _New tech,”_ Black Mask confirmed, already punching in the final sequence to unlock the door. “ _Spanner’s design.”_

 

“...you own this place?”

 

“ _No, but Spanner does some contract work.”_

 

“ _Who the hell is that voice? And… Spanner?”_

 

“The fox’s support,” Black Mask answered, switching from the comm system to speaking aloud now that they were somewhere more or less private. The inside of the warehouse was fairly standard, though Aiden did give them points for the custom vehicles scattered throughout. “And my engineer.”

 

“You guys are professionals then?”

 

Black Mask shrugged at him, walking his bike to a charging station.

 

“You’re green?” Somehow, environmental awareness wasn’t something Aiden associated with the mysterious Fixer.

 

“As much as can be,” Black Mask confirmed, pulling out a cable to connect to his bike. “There’s a regular fuelling station over there if you need it.”

 

“That is illegal,” blue eyes muttered, scandalized.

 

“Only if you get caught,” Black Mask quipped

 

Aiden was still good on fuel—Jordi’s contacts were the best at what they did—so stored his bike beside Black Mask’s, away from the charger. Blue eyes followed, taking the time to admire some of the surrounding cars. “So we’re walking over?”

 

“Might as well. It’s two blocks from here. Got your phones?”

 

“Do you?”

 

Black Mask pulled out a sleek black shape from a pocket Aiden hadn’t noticed before—neither had blue eyes, by the look of him—and waved it through the air. “I can’t exactly walk around all day with a helmet on, can I?”

 

“ _When he takes it off, steal it for me._ ”

 

Aiden carefully kept his face blank.

 

Behind him, blue eyes stripped out of the racing jumpsuit, revealing a casual tee and jeans underneath. A black bomber jacket joined the ensemble from the compartment underneath his bike’s seat. “Ready.”

 

Aiden, who didn’t bother with fancy outfits, shrugged. “Same.”

 

“One second then,” Black Mask requested, slipping off the black jumpsuit he was wearing. Similar to blue eyes, Black Mask was wearing casual clothing underneath: a white and orange hoody with black details, grey trousers, black army boots. He left his gloves on, but the bulge of rings and wristwatch was obvious to Aiden’s trained eye. The helmet slipped off Black Mask’s head, and Aiden froze.

 

His first impression was fire, scarlet and gold and fiercely burning.

 

_“Wow….”_

 

Aiden blinked away the shock and looked again.

 

Golden eyes, eerie in the dim light of the room. Brown hair, mused from the helmet. Pale skin, as if he spent most of his time inside or covered head-to-toe in a racing outfit.

 

A barely familiar foreign face, bringing with it the smell of freshly poured black coffee, the sound of noisy truant teens, and the feel of a grandmother’s disapproving stare. Aiden, for the first time in years, sputtered.

 

“You—!”

 

The tea drinker from the cafe last week smiled, waving casually. “Hi.”


	7. Shake Hands With the Devil

Aiden counted himself lucky that blue eyes, at least, was more uncomfortable than he was.

 

Black Mask—that tiny tea drinker—all but bounced on his toes beside Aiden, craning his neck to get a better view.

 

When they managed to get to the bridge, the beginnings of a crowd had already begun. Police and ambulances lined the roads to and from the bridge, with two police helicopters hovering overhead, pointing familiar searchlights not at Aiden (for once) but into the river.

 

T-Bone was monitoring the situation from his own little bunker across the city, and relaying the news into Aiden’s, Black Mask’s, and blue eyes’ ears.

 

The man who had been stranded in his car on the bridge had been rescued. Three people had been pulled from the river, one of them seriously injured but all likely to make a full recovery. The ruins of one motorcycle had been recovered from the shallows; two others had been spotted in the deeper, swifter waters, but were not priorities to retrieve at the moment, especially with the spring flood raising the level of the river. Other motorcyclists had been reported in the area, but the police weren’t looking into them at the moment: street racing was common nearby. The three men in the river were probably racers, too, but the police weren’t going to be bothering to charge them with anything, not with something more important hanging over them.

 

Literally.

 

The final supports tying the bridge to the river banks on either side had given in—Aiden could remember that final shuddering groan as he and Black Mask took the final anchor’s tieback at a speed which would have guaranteed death if they had screwed it up. The entire metal behemoth was left floating over the river only on the two support pylons, which were even now succumbing to the stress.

 

Blue eyes whistled appreciatively as the side of the bridge closest to them shuddered and then, screeching, tumbled the upper supports into the river. Black Mask winced at the tangled metal still visible above the surface.

 

“…good job,” Aiden murmured.

 

Black Mask shot him a glare, but turned back to watching the emergency crews scratching their heads in confusion.

 

“Holy shit,” blue eyes whispered. “That is so cool.”

 

“I thought you were worried someone died?”

 

Blue eyes shrugged. “No one did. So it’s cool.”

 

Black Mask winced again. “Thankfully.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

The revving of a motorcycle echoed down the street. Aiden turned his head slightly to watch as four of the Fixers he had dumped the bridge on before pulled up from the direction of the finish line. The police noticed them, too, but as per T-Bone’s report didn’t bother questioning them.

 

Blue eyes grinned at the one on the bright red Suzuki. “Yo!”

 

The Suzuki pulled away from the group, stopping at the edge of the crowd. The rider didn’t bother to remove his helmet, but he did walk over to them. “You alive kid?”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“You win?”

 

“Yeah!”

 

“Good job.” Suzuki turned to Aiden, eyeing him appraisingly. Froze when he realized who he was eyeing. “You, ah… you have anything to do with this?”

 

Aiden turned back to the wreckage. Fire trucks had started to pull up, now. “I trigger small bridges, not… these monstrosities.”

 

“Good to know. You survived alright?”

 

“We hit the bridge right after it, uh, started to collapse,” Black Mask offered. “There was some metal sticking out the sides of the river bank that served as decent ramps onto and off of it, but if we were any faster we’d be in those ambulances.”

 

“Any slower we’d be just as in the river,” Aiden added.

 

Suzuki nodded slowly. “Any reason you… weren’t… faster?”

 

“He’s a fox,” Black Mask gestured at Aiden in an entirely too unconcerned manner. “The only time we get to catch up is during races, since he’s always slinking off elsewhere.”

 

“Says the man who’s hardly in the country.”

 

Black Mask smiled, but it was twisted. “You’re keeping tabs on me?”

 

“T-Bone wants your helmet.”

 

“I realized that, thanks.”

 

“It might be stolen by the time we get back.”

 

“If it is, I’m contracting you to do menial labour for a month.”

 

“What’s the rate?”

 

“Piddles. And I’ll take all the contracts you’d normally take, so you have to do mine.”

 

“Hardly sounds fair when it would be T-Bone, not me, stealing your helmet.”

 

“He’s your support hacker, so take responsibility for your pets.”

 

_“Oi, that fucker—“_

 

“T-Bone’s not impressed.”

 

“Then stay away from my helmet.”

 

Aiden smirked, enjoying the banter. And it got a genuine smile on Black Mask’s face, which was infinitely better than the grimace from before.


	8. Something Shiny

“ _Look, I’m not just going to hand over Spanner’s information.”_

 

“ _I’m going to figure it out eventually!”_

 

“ _Yeah, I don’t think so._ ”

 

The chatter in his earpiece was annoying, but Aiden found he could just manage to tune them out. Tuning them out maybe involved revving the engine, speeding up and turning his head to catch the wind in his ears, but strange driving was nothing new to the people around them.

 

Pawnee was really only part of ctOS because Blume had their headquarters on the fringes. The rest of the area was very much Chicago’s technologically absent vacation playground, which made it a simultaneously perfect and horrible race location. Perfect, in that only those Fixers with enough skill and connections had access to the limited network in the area and so the only racers were those with access or those completely without but didn’t care. People of Aiden’s level. It was horrible in that the network was so limited, because if something went wrong—as it was wont to do—then the racers could only rely on their driving skills and not on various infrastructure triggers.

 

For Aiden, this meant that he got to see the other high-level Fixers he might have to go against. For Black Mask…

 

_“Look, Spanner asked me to test this. I really don’t need help!”_

 

_“But I want to! I can take results from this side and send them to Spanner!”_

_“And I’m saying that Spanner is monitoring this remotely and you really don’t need to!”_

 

The first ten minutes of this had been amusing.

 

Now, half an hour into what looked like one of the longer races through back streets and country roads, Aiden had long lost his sense of humour about the would-be argument.

 

“T-Bone, _lay off_. We’re trying to concentrate.”

 

_“Oh, sure, just be quiet T-Bone, don’t communicate with us T-Bone, we don’t want to hear you T-Bone_ …”

 

“Ignore him,” Aiden cautioned Black Mask.

 

Beside him, the younger man tilted his head over just enough to nod. Then he was off, easily outpacing Aiden’s own breakneck speed.

 

_“Holy shit_. _What kind of boosters is he using?”_

 

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

 

_“But—“_

 

“He’s testing it, isn’t he? Wait until after this Spanner has worked out all the kinks before attempting to get me killed.”

 

That was enough to make T-Bone pause for a bit. Long enough for Aiden to overtake the next racer ahead of him, knocking him down a lane that Aiden knew would eventually meet up with the main race, if an extra ten miles longer.

 

He wasn’t the first one to the finish line (that was likely Black Mask), but there were only two other people loitering around the empty lot at the end of the street. While most Fixers didn’t stick around after a race, Aiden was confident that he was in fourth place.

 

The dumbfounded expressions on the faces of the other two fixers were too entertaining to ignore.

 

“So,” Aiden called as he rolled his bike onto the dry grass, “I guess you saw Black Mask’s new engine too, huh?”

 

“ _What was that_?!” One racer yelled, swinging a leg over to stalk over to Aiden. “A new engine? There’s no way an engine upgrade would improve performance that much!”

 

“Dude, the guy’s won, like, ten other races in the last six months. His bike is _sick_ ,” the second biker said. He remained lounging on his bike, eyeing Aiden and the other racer carefully. A proper Fixer, Aiden decided, sizing them up. Dark red helmet, wide visor, black leather jacket over a grey, oil-stained jumpsuit. A mechanic by day? Or one of Jordi’s friends who dealt with vehicle pick-ups and drop-offs?

 

The racer beside Aiden snorted at the other. “Who cares! No matter how many upgrades that guy has, there’s no way he should have managed that speed!”

 

“And yet he did,” Aiden prodded.

 

“And _what the hell is that?_ How’d he do that?!”

 

The red-helmet Fixer shook his head. “Dude, he _did_. Just let it go, okay?”

 

“Let it _go?_ Aren’t you a mechanic or something? Don’t you care?!”

 

“I _do_ , but since he’s not here, I’m not going to freak out about it,” the other Fixer insisted. “You need to chill.”

 

“I am chill!”

 

“Well, if we don’t know anything about it, I’m gonna head off,” red-helmet excused themselves. “See ya guys.”

 

Aiden nodded at the Fixer as they drove by. The racer beside him kept ranting and raving, and Aiden did his best to him as he thought. He only stayed until other racers started finishing and driving over for a quick word, at which point he took off back towards Chicago. He took the long way back. He needed a bit of time to think.

 

That other Fixer… they seemed fairly laid back, but Aiden hadn’t survived being the Vigilante by ignoring his suspicions. No, the red-helmeted racer was planning something, and Aiden needed to be on the lookout for it.

 

And given the conversation, he’d bet good money it was something to do with Black Mask.


	9. The Cost of Preemptive Strikes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! And if anyone decides they want to take this and run with it, please do.

Tsuna sighed, slumping back into his chair. Hayato would probably be by in the next few minutes with updates about their various projects and investments, but right now he was going to enjoy the peace and solitude and lack of crying infants in small enclosed spaces. At least first class allowed him more space, but on air planes there was no magical sound barrier between economy and business. He’d probably be more understanding if he hadn’t been planning on a nice, long sleep taking up most of the overnight trans-Atlantic flight.

 

Especially considering the race the night before. Super-speed, yes. Feeling like he’d been thrown into a wind tunnel simulating a category five hurricane with zero protective layers, also yes.

 

Spanner was ecstatic at the numbers, though. Max speed, turn handling, energy efficiency, emissions (none)…. The man had been more excited than a child on Christmas morning. He’d even abandoned his newest Mosca design to go over things with Tsuna, which was practically unheard of.

 

He’d sent Tsuna back to Italy with thanks and well-wishes and promises to contact him if there was anything else he needed testing.

 

Tsuna desperately hoped there was nothing that needed testing for at least a month.

 

Now, while he had some time, he was going to have a power nap and hopefully be ready for whatever chaos Hayato brought with him.

 

Just as Tsuna’s eyes were drooping closed, his phone beeped with the chime of an urgent email. Grumbling he pulled it out, quickly navigating to the new message from… Spanner.

 

Dread pooled in his stomach. Nuh-uh, no way, “I just _got back_ ,” he mourned. “I am _not_ flying all the way to America to test... whatever!”

 

He opened it anyway, because no matter his personal feelings on the subject, keeping abreast of whatever shenanigans the self-described members of SRTA were up to could only result in less collateral damage.

 

_Vongola,_

_I’m passing this along. It was sent to your helmet’s internal computer, but I recognize the address it was sent from._

 

_Spanner_

 

_2 attachments:_

 

_> From: 010001100100111101011000_

_> To: Black Mask_

_> Date: 20XX/06/08_

_> Subject: Watch Out_

_> _

_> Had a run in after the last race. Your new engine is drawing attention. People might come looking._

_> I’ll try to head them off._

_> Suggest you make it a Fixer Contract to be safe._

_> Add lasers to your bike._

_> From: 010001100100111101011000_

_> To: Black Mask_

_> Date: 20XX/06/09_

_> Subject: Correction_

_>  _

_> Don’t need to make a Contract._

_>  _

_> You owe me $_

 

 

Tsuna sighed. Groaned. Hit speed dial.

 

“Hey, Reborn. How much is the going rate for accidentally hiring a Fixer as a long-distance sort-of bodyguard?”

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before the Bad Blood DLC came out. Also written after interacting with T-Bone all of, maybe, twice. Should I ever find time to replay Watch Dogs, I am probably going to look at the characterization in this and weep tears of frustration.
> 
> I still hear "I need my phone, Jordi" in my sleep sometimes. It's slightly worrisome.


End file.
